


Eyes Up, Granger

by melanoradrood



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Fluff, Hogwarts Eighth Year, One Shot, Pre-Relationship, flangst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:22:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27943706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melanoradrood/pseuds/melanoradrood
Summary: The four times Draco Malfoy told her "Eyes Up, Granger", and the one time she told him "Eyes Up, Malfoy"Inspired by Artwork by LadyKenz347 on Tumblr!
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 40
Kudos: 313
Collections: The Dramione Collection





	Eyes Up, Granger

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyKenz347](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyKenz347/gifts).



> This was inspired by [Artwork by LadyKenz](https://melanoradrood.tumblr.com/post/627937892238491648/eyes-up-granger) on Tumblr.

**1 ( year two)**

“Eyes Up, Granger.”

There’s no reaction from the person in front of him, and he scoffs, still not willing to believe it’s true, not willing to believe what is currently before his very eyes.

“Come on, Granger. Don’t you know well enough to obey your betters? You certainly obey the professors often enough, with your bloody love for rules. I bet if it was McGonagall in here, you would do it immediately, so come on then - eyes up.”

They do not move, however. Nothing about her does. Even with the sharp sting of the last word, a bite coming from his tongue, she does not obey.

“Didn’t you hear me,  _ Mudblood _ ? Just, get up!”

But she doesn’t move. She’s petrified. And they’re both currently in the Infirmary.

He’s there because of a stomach bug, and it might have been a lie, but ever since he had heard about  _ her _ being attacked, his stomach pain won’t go away. It’s a pesky thing, this constant ache in his lower abdomen, and it had caused him a few times to even rush to the bathroom to empty his stomach. Not even the anti-nausea potion that he had been given helped any.

The Matron had left to go and find “something else”, likely to reach out to Professor Snape for assistance, which meant that he was free to look around… 

And when he had seen her, Hermione Granger, he had been unable to stop himself from speaking to her.

“I find it hilarious, that you obey me when I make a comment about you being attacked. Like I said, you should know well enough to listen to when a Pureblood gives you an order, so why disobey this one?”

He knows she can’t respond, and that irks him, for some reason. 

“You know, it’s not as much fun when you don’t snap back at me. Even Weasley, for all of his buffoonery, normally has some sort of response. This is…”

It’s no fun, mocking her when she can’t respond. 

Sitting down onto the chair that rests beside her hospital bed, Draco stares down at the girl, frozen, a look of fear clear on her face. He wonders what she was thinking at that last moment, if she knew it was coming. He wonders if she’ll remember this, if she’s able to hear things in there, knows what he’s saying.

“You know, class is quite a bore without you there. There’s no little priss know-it-all, raising her hand in the air, acting like she has to be called on or she’ll die. Some of us are being forced to answer the questions, now.”

He wouldn’t say that he misses her, but there is something certainly lacking without her presence.

“And somehow, your idiots are even more insufferable than ever. It’s like they lost any sort of brains between the two of them, which, I guess they did.”

He thinks, for a moment, that his words had just verged on a compliment… no no, he had spoken a fact. She  _ was _ smart. It didn’t mean that he had to like her, or that he did, he was just simply admitting a fact. A simple fact. So what if a Mudblood was smart? It didn’t change the fact that they stole magic and were a danger to Wizarding society… or so his father said.

And what his father said, Draco had to believe. There was no other choice.

Still… 

A part of him somehow… missed her. She was predictable, an easy target, like Weasley and his lack of wealth, Potter and having no parents, and Granger with her blood. It was easy to make fun of her for that. That and her looks, the bushy hair and the teeth and her pouty lips and her wide eyes and her button nose and-

He recoils for a moment, realizing that he had been analyzing her looks. There was no purpose in that - her hair would always be an easy mark, so why bother pushing further?

Maybe whatever was causing pain in his stomach had also done something to his head.

Rising from his chair, he shakes his head and quickly pats his hair, making sure it’s still slicked back, much like his father’s. He was still considering growing it out, although not quite yet. It would get in the way of playing quidditch, he feared.

“Just, hurry up and get back to class,” he says, turning to look back at her, still frozen in time. “Before… before…”

He doesn’t have a reason to want her back in class. Not really. In fact, he shouldn’t even want her in this school. If it was up to his father, and it very well should be, she would be nowhere near this school, what with the magic she has stolen. No, the magic would stay with good Wizarding families, and she would be nothing, just a Muggle.

Except…

Except, she was not a Muggle. She was as far from a Muggle as one could possibly be. She was… powerful. Strong. Smarter than most. In fact…

As he stands there, Draco realizes, with horror, that were he to select someone from his class most likely to be a Muggle, she would not be his top choice. Oh, Weasley would definitely be a Muggle, what with his inability to perform most spells. Goyle and Crabbe, as much as they were his friends, were only interested in stuffing their faces at mealtime. Most Hufflepuffs were utterly useless. 

But Granger… Granger was a proper witch. 

_ No. _

“Even unconscious, you are a pain,” he snaps at her, and he stomps away from her petrified form, a snarl on his face. Granger, a proper witch? No. She was one  _ Obliviate _ away from being back with her stupid Muggle family. 

She should just… stay there. Stay petrified. His father was right. Muggleborns stole magic. They were a danger to all of the Wizarding World. There was no way his father was wrong.

_ Stupid Mudblood… Stupid Filthy Mudblood… _

**2 (year four)**

“Eyes Up, Granger.”

She’s sitting in a corner, crying her eyes out over that idiot, and honestly, he cannot believe he actually followed her out here, but somehow, letting Weasley get in that last word is unbearable. At the rate she’s going, Granger is likely to run back to her common room and actually  _ apologize _ , which would make that buffoon think that he was right, and really, in no universe is a Weasley actually right.

He has to make certain that Weasley is put in his place, and if that means he has to use Granger to do it, then so be it.

“What?” she asks, and there’s tears all over her face, her bushy hair is starting to come out of whatever style she had twisted it into, and really, did she have no self respect?

“You heard me. Eyes up. Can’t believe you’re crying over Weasley of all people. What, three boyfriends too many for you to handle? If you’re going to get rid of one, he’s definitely the first I would get rid of.”

He’s crossing his arms, standing a few steps away from her, a smirk on his face.

“Bloke couldn’t even get a proper date, and he’s going to judge you for yours? He only said half of what he did because he was jealous Krum asked you rather than asking him. And those dress robes? I don’t even think my oldest great aunt would allow those in her attic, let alone on her body. Disgraceful.”

Granger is still silent, and it’s bloody infuriating, reminding him of the last time she had been quiet. He tries to not think about that, about how he had a stomach ache for weeks, about how he couldn’t help looking at her empty seat in class, about how he would sometimes turn to antagonize her, only to remember she was still gone.

He had thoroughly enjoyed being a right prat to her all during Third Year, even if it had earned him a broken nose.

“Well, stand up. Stop crying over him. Honestly, Granger, I don’t know what you’re bloody mourning. He’s not exactly a loss. He’s a complete tosser.”

Her mouth is open now, but she’s speechless. He crosses over to her, grabbing her by the wrists, and yanking her up from where she sits. She stumbles a few steps, and he quickly rights her, taking a step back to look at her. 

She had looked rather fit, earlier, not that he would say it out loud.

“Honestly, you must have spent weeks putting together this look, and you ruined it after a few tears because of something the  _ Weasel _ said? You look all… pathetic again.”

“Are you saying I looked pretty earlier?” she asks, the first thing she has really responded to. 

He stiffens immediately, not able to find a retort. He hadn’t expected her to acknowledge his compliments but he had been trying to get a rise from her. He simply lifts his chin, taking in a breath, trying to find something to say.

“Well, finally it speaks. Took you long enough. Now, chin up, eyes up, and go hex the Weasel. Make it something permanent.”

Granger stares at him, confusion written on her face, and he raises his brows, gesturing towards where the other students were, likely towards the Gryffindor common rooms.

“Now.”

Her wand is suddenly out, and pointed in his face. His eyes go wide, and he takes a step back, followed by another. The last time he had her wand in his face, he had ended up with a broken bloody nose. He doesn’t want to test her again.

“Why did you come after me?” she demands. “Why tell me all those things? Why… it was like backhanded compliments, all covered in insulting him.”

He scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Any chance to insult the Weasel is an open opportunity.”

Her eyes thin, and she lowers her wand slightly, and he’s not sure where it came from, given the Muggle dress she’s wearing, but she had been fast on the draw.

“And… and hinting at nice things about me… That was, what?”

His eyes roll again, and he recrosses his arms, no longer afraid that she’ll hex him, given how her voice has softened and her wand has lowered. “Like I said, go hex him. I can’t wait to see the results.”

Her brow furrows, and she takes a glance towards the Great Hall, then back at him. Her wand hangs at her side, and she sniffs, rubbing her free hand underneath both eyes, likely trying to dry the tears there.

“I don’t understand you,” she finally says.

He doesn’t think he really understands himself.

“You don’t have to,” he says, and he turns to return to the Yule Ball. “Just, give him a good hex. He deserves it for making a pretty witch cry.”

He doesn’t look back over to see her smile, and that stomach ache from Second Year returns.

He ignores it, and makes a decision right then to start ignoring her.

**3 (year six)**

“Eyes Up, Granger.”

He can see her, see her table in the back of the library, and it’s littered with books and parchment and ink. There’s at least three quills lost in her hair, and she’s currently alone. It’s the first time he has seen her without a shadow or two in some time. If there is ever a chance that he could catch her without Potter and Weasel, this is it.

If she just looks up at him... If she just makes eye contact…

He can’t ask for help. He knows that. He knows his assignment. He knows that Professor Snape is his one confidant. He knows that his mother’s life hangs in the balance. He knows what he must do.

But, if she just looks up at him…

If Hermione Granger just looks at him, he’s pretty sure it would all come tumbling out. Every confession. Every fear. The location of Voldemort. His mission. The mark on his arm. His burden. He would tell her anything and everything. She would know what to do. She would know how to fix it.

He could  _ Obliviate  _ her, he reasons to himself. He could tell her everything, then charm it away.

She could fix this. She could fix the wardrobe. He would take her to Dumbledore.

_ Hermione Granger would know what to do. _

“Come on, Granger,” he says, and he’s peeking around a bookshelf, almost directly in her line of sight, if only she would just lift her gaze from the books. “Eyes up. Come on and look at me.”

But, she doesn’t look up. She doesn’t stop what she’s doing. She simply flips through the book, scanning pages, and then she waves her hand to another one, flipping through that as well. It’s wandless magic, and he knows he should be impressed, impressed that a Sixth Year is doing wandless wordless magic, impressed that a Muggle-born can do any magic like that at all, but he’s not.

She has never ever failed to impress him. She has risen to every challenge, every adversary. She even survived Dolohov’s curse, or so the story went.

No one had ever survived it before. No one. And now, a Mudblood had.

Hermione Granger was no ordinary witch. She could do the impossible. She could achieve things no Muggle-born ever should. She could fix the wardrobe. She could kill Dumbledore. She could save him. She could save his mother.

He follows her as she disappears down the stacks to find another book, and he waits, waits for her to cross his path. He considers shoving up his coat sleeve to reveal the mark, considers just reaching out and touching her, anything to  _ force _ her to look at him.

She brushes right by, without even a glance.

_ Eyes Up, Granger _ , he thinks to himself as he watches her return to the table. His stomach is aching, a constant reminder of how sick he feels, how powerless, unable to do anything as time passse him by. It feels even worse, realizing that she never even noticed he was there - he simply was not worth of her attention.

_ Eyes Up, Granger. I need you to save me. _

**4 (year seven)**

“Eyes up, Granger.”

He says it so softly only his mother can hear, the sounds of Granger’s screams still echoing through the Manor. His aunt is laughing maniacally, a cursed blade is in her hand, dripping with blood. Dripping with Granger’s blood. It’s red, just like his. He has seen his own blood many times before, spilled in this very room.

He had doubted Blood Purity for some time, but there is no longer a question in his mind. Mudblood, Half-Blood, Pureblood… the only difference was how much wealth they had, how much social standing, how much history. The magic itself didn’t matter. The purity of blood didn’t matter.

It had mattered, once, to be a Malfoy. No longer. All that mattered now was surviving. Surviving this war. Surviving the Dark Lord. Surviving the sounds of Hermione Granger’s screams as they shook him to his very core.

No amount of Occluding could keep the sounds of her torture from him.

His mother doesn’t move, save to flick her eyes to meet his. His father is too far away to have heard, to even notice the two of them. Greyback, though, the werewolf… he looks up, a grin on his face, and he knows that the mutt heard him. 

Still, no one says anything for a long moment, not even as his Aunt begins to laugh.

Granger doesn’t move, though. She had suffered curse after curse, the Cruciatus worst of all, and he knows what that feels like, knows what it feels like to have your body and brains rattled, until nothing else makes sense, until you can no longer think, no longer breathe. 

There’s a word on her arm, carved in by that knife, and it makes him sick, the stomach ache he can never kick these days flipping his stomach over once more. He thinks, if he were not currently frozen in horror, he would be sick. Instead, he can just stare at her, stare at her arm.

_ Mudblood _ .

She’s not moving, and it suddenly dawns on him, that she might be dead. A world without Hermione Granger in it… it’s unimaginable. He remembers, once, wishing that she were in fact dead, ripped from the Wizarding World. How foolish he had been.

_ Eyes Up, Granger _ .

Finally, she moves, but it’s just her breathing. He can see her chest rise and fall, but they are shallow, not even enough to make noise. He wonders if he’s about to witness her take her last breaths. He wonders if her eyes will ever open. He worries that she’ll end up like the Longbottoms, destroyed by his Aunt. He worries that she’ll turn her wand on his mother next.

He’s terrified that the next thing he sees will be Hermione Granger die in the middle of his house.

He can feel his mother’s hand touch his, her fingers wrapping around his wrist, squeezing. He reaches out and squeezes back, but he doesn’t look away. He doesn’t look away from Hermione. Someone should remember this.

_ Eyes Up, Granger. I wish I could save you. _

**+1 (year eight)**

“Eyes Up, Malfoy.”

She had been expecting this. Expecting him to come to her. It had been inevitable, ever since the start of school, even since the trials. She had seen the pain on his face every time she spoke on his behalf, that slight wince, and he had been unable to meet her eyes the whole time. And when he was acquitted of all charges… she had seen the weight on him, the pressure in his shoulders at relief from being granted freedom, but still having the past hovering over him.

He had spoken to Harry. Spoken to Ron. He had even spoken to Mr Weasley.

But Hermione? She had spoken to Mrs Malfoy, of course, but Draco Malfoy had been unable to look at her. She had wondered, then, if he still believed in Blood Purity, but now, after having seen him apologize to  _ everyone _ save for her, she knew what it was.

He was saving her for last. He hadn’t come to her, yet, because this would be the hardest.

Because he had seen her at the lowest of low.

Yes, others had been hurt, at Hogwarts, within his home. She knew that Professor Burbage had even died in front of him. But, what had happened in the Manor that day…

She had seen him, before the curses became too strong she could no longer think, no longer breathe. The terror on his face, she could tell that he regretted everything, every moment that he threw an insult her way, every time he believed his father. She had seen the true horror in his gaze, and she had known, when death was suddenly a possible reprieve from the torture she was enduring, that he was afraid he was about to watch her die a terrible death, either at the hand of his Aunt or Greyback.

The fears of both still kept her up at night. She was pretty sure that everyone would hear her screams, if she was not so good at silencing herself.

But Draco… Draco Malfoy had heard her screams, and not from a different level of the house, as Ron and Harry had. No, he had watched what was done to her. He had seen her life fading from her, as she lay dying on the floor in his house.

She knew that she was being saved for last, and had already prepared what she was going to say. She just… hadn’t expected it to be like this.

Because right now, Draco Malfoy is on his knees in front of her, no wand, his head bowed, tears running down his face.

“Please…” she begs, and she hopes that no one finds them in this back corner of the library. Everyone knows that this table is her table, even after her year absent, and only a few ever come back, knowing that if they did, they would not get any help from her, not any longer, but still,  _ someone might see _ .

The last thing she needs is a rumor going around that she forced Draco Malfoy to his knees, or that she is threatening him, or anything else that absurd First Years might imagine. He was having a hard enough time, what with everyone seeming to think they knew everything about him after the release of his trial transcript. She was having a hard enough time, given how her story had been in the paper, despite the fact that she refused to talk to anyone about what had happened over the past year.

“Draco Malfoy, please, just, look at me,” she begs.

His eyes lift to look at her, and she can see the pain, see the agony. Even now, she thinks he might still be hearing her screams, might hear her voice begging for mercy, hear her begging Bellatrix to stop. She can hear her own screams, can hear the cackle of laughter.

“I, I have to apologize,” he gasps, and she can hear the crack in his voice. “I have to do this. Please, let me just, let me get this out.”

She cannot imagine what he has endured, to be this broken, no longer the proud boy he had once been. Still, she cannot bring herself to hear it. She already knows what he has to say. She already knows what she has to say in response.

“I forgive you,” she says, cutting him off. “I forgave you a long time ago. You don’t have to say anything. It’s already forgiven. You were indoctrinated with hate, your mother was threatened, and in the end you both still chose-”

“I knew, in Second Year, it was wrong.”

Her words stop as he speaks, and his eyes are back on the floor, his shoulders slumping further as his hands hit the ground, his body almost folding in front of her.

“Not when I called you that name the first time, but I came to see you, when you were petrified. I knew then, that you were different. I knew, and I still… I still believed it, Granger. All the way, until… until he threatened… I wanted the mark. Or at least, I thought I did. I was not innocent back then, and I could apologize a thousand times for every mean then I said, but I will never be able to apologize enough for what happened to you-”

“Stop-” she says, trying to cut him off, but he pushes on.

“-in my house. I should have stopped her. Should have stopped then. My Aunt, she was insane, but-”

“Stop, please,” she begs, but he’s not listening.

“-I should have risked it anyways. I saw your blood, and I knew you were a powerful witch, but your blood is the same as mine, and I will never forgive myself for-”

“I forgive you,” she gasps, and there’s tears down her cheeks as well, and she’s reliving that moment in the manor.

She’s not okay, has not been okay the last few months at school, and she doubts she will ever be okay again. She thinks, now as she looks at him, that neither will he.

“-for, for…” he’s gasping on his words, but they’re not coming out, his sobs choking him. “I thought… I thought you were going to… I thought you were dead, and I just stood there. How could I consider myself a Wizard when I just stood there?”

She falls to her knees in front of him, her own body finally giving out, and she wraps her arms around him, pulling him to her. He melts into her touch, his arms wrapping around her, and she gives him strength, holding them somewhat upright.

She had never really cried about that day. She never really talked about it. Fleur had bandaged it while Hermione stared at the wound, not talking. After the Final Battle, healers from St Mungo’s had looked at it, had declared it from a cursed blade - but she had been detached, not reacting.

When they did the full body scans and saw the curses she endured, they said nothing, just gave her potions that should help. When she vomited over the toilets after taking each one, the nausea and pain from the regrowth to her nervous system too much, she had simply washed her face after and moved on each time.

She had never cried about it, had never broken down.

And now, it was too much. It was overwhelming. Overflowing.

“I’m so sorry,” he gasps into her hair, and she cries with him, cries until she’s out of tears, until she’s just trying to remember to breathe, and he begins to breathe with her.

In the end, they’re left on their knees, her arms still wrapped around him, his body limp and leaning against hers. They stay there for some time, neither of them moving. Moving feels too hard. Moving means talking, means thinking, means…

She can’t think. So instead, she detaches. Detaches from her thoughts, and simply feels. She feels his fingers in her hair, running through the ends that are flowing down her back. She feels his spine, awkwardly curved as his tall frame bends over her small one. She feels his breath, hot and heavy against her shoulder, his sobs finally having subsided. She feels her heart, shattering as she recognizes the strength he had to show to become so vulnerable, the first time she thinks he has ever broken down.

Eventually, her legs start to go numb, and she pulls back. He releases her, and she runs her fingers under her eyes, down her cheeks, and onto her neck, gathering and wiping away all of her tears. She sniffles softly, her nose needing to be cleared, and she pushes herself up off the floor, taking a deep breath as she finally stands.

His feet are frozen in place, and he’s wiping at his face with his sleeve, his shoulders sagging.

“Draco,” she says softly, but his eyes remain fixed on the ground. “Malfoy, please.”

He gives a soft hum, but he doesn’t say anything, just stays there, as though the weight of the world is on his shoulders, and he is not strong enough to rise.

“Thank you, for your apology,” she says, and she walks back to him, swallowing when she’s only a step away. Her fingers lift his chin, forcing his gaze to lock with hers. “Now, eyes up, Malfoy. Remember, the hard part is done.”

His eyes are still filled with tears, but there’s a strength to him as he takes a deep breath, nodding.

“Remember, keep your eyes up, chin up,” she whispers, and a tiny smile slides over her lips. “Why don’t you go get your bag from where you dropped it, and come and join me. We can work on our potions essay together.”

He does as told, saying nothing, and sinks into the chair across from hers. When she looks up from her work, his eyes are on hers, and he smiles back.

**Author's Note:**

> So basically what happened is... I was really strongly resisting the urge to return to writing fanfic, and was instead feeding my dramione urges by reading fanfic and looking at fanart. And then, there I was, just casually scrolling through facebook, when I saw it... I saw this art... and I basically, you know... stopped trying to resist.
> 
> And now, here I am, writing Angst that was originally going to be Smut. Because it's me. There may eventually be a Smut Pt2, which I think LadyKenz originally intended, but I was struggling to flow this to make it a "bonus" chapter, so instead I'll just post the smut at a later date.
> 
> A HUGE thank you to canttouchthis for always being there to listen to my insane ramblings, tease me about my tense shifts, and generally deal with my garbage. She's writing a GrungeAU Dramione that will be A+ when it comes out! And, a big thank you to sweetestsorrows, who has been my Alpha on a larger project, and quickly glanced at this to make sure that all of my weirdness at the last minute flowed. If you're not reading her Dramione Baby fic, well, go read it like now.
> 
> And of course, thank you to LadyKenz for the beautiful artwork that inspired this. Seriously, it has been amazing to watch you work on your art with all of your Hermione, Draco, and Dramione goodness. You are truly wonderful, and I have to credit (or blame lol) you for my return to fanfic and active tumblr posting.
> 
> You can find me on [tumblr](https://melanoradrood.tumblr.com/).


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